


the green reaper

by screechfox



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Written Pre-LWS4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2020-04-23 11:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19149706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screechfox/pseuds/screechfox
Summary: It is quiet when Trahearne awakens. There is a soft rush of water, back and forth, and the rustling of wind in the trees.All this is quite a surprise, of course, because he hadn’t expected to wake up at all.The afterlife is not what Trahearne thought it was going to be.





	the green reaper

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't played GW2 in months because my good laptop died and this one would explode if i _looked_ at GW2. so if anything in this is OOC i apologise because i haven't been able to check.
> 
> also, basically all of this was written about a year ago - summer 2018 - but i've given it a once over today. i'll probably change the date back after this has been up for a while

It is quiet when Trahearne awakens. There is a soft rush of water, back and forth, and the rustling of wind in the trees.

All this is quite a surprise, of course, because he hadn’t expected to wake up at all.

Phantom pain lingers where Caladbolg had pierced his body, and he winces as he sits up. His fingers brush over his chest, but he finds himself unmarked by any wounds; not even the faintest hint of a scar marrs his flesh.

The trees around him are familiar, like echoes of memories or dreams, not yet faded. 

He drags himself to his feet, and examines his surroundings. Then, with nothing else to do, he begins to walk through the infinite jungle.

It starts to get disconcerting after a while. Not that it wasn’t disconcerting anyway, but even so. No matter how hard Trahearne strains to hear, he can make out no signs of life. There is no birdsong, no buzz of insects.

Even Orr had more life than this; the grey-tinged corpses brought to animation. 

Though this place reminds him of Orr and the Maguuma both, it has none of either place’s unique vitality.

It is still, and quiet, and Trahearne feels a sudden loneliness surrounding him. By the Pale Mother, he doesn’t want to be alone for all eternity.

And then he isn’t.

Where there was only empty space beside him, there is a figure. A spirit, like so many he’s seen, but… different, somehow. He can’t place it.

The spirit is a centaur, with a relaxed look to his shoulders, and a kindly smile on his face as he examines Trahearne.

Oh. Oh.

Ventari matches his pace for a while, until Trahearne has to pause - the ache in his chest growing too strong for him to continue. He leans against a tree and catches his breath.

“I have to say,” he remarks, between slow gulps of air, “that I hadn’t foreseen this outcome of the situation.”

Ventari’s smile turns pained, and regret gathers in the creases around his eyes. For a moment, he becomes so insubstantial that Trahearne fears he’ll fade away.

“I wish I could have done something to prevent this, my child,” is all he says, as he returns to focus. Trahearne’s relief is near-tangible in the pit of his chest — a cryptic pseudo-father is better than no one at all.

“Is this the Dream, then?” He tilts his head against the bark behind him, and stares up into the leaves of the jungle. “I imagined there to be more, somehow.”

Ventari’s expression creases as Trahearne makes eye contact again. There’s a long pause that seems to stretch for an eternity, then he shakes his head, back and forth.

“I’m afraid not. If only the world could be so simple as that.”

Vague platitudes are a lot less world-shaking coming from a man and not a tablet, Trahearne thinks in annoyance.

“Do you have any other theories?” His voice is steady as ever, but irritation makes light bloom underneath his skin. Ventari’s eyes flicker over it in fascination.

“Well, this is the afterlife, but not in the way that you’d expect.”

Trahearne takes a slow breath in, trying to restrain himself from snapping.

“I’d prefer it if we didn’t spend all day dancing around the truth of the matter.”

_ Finally, _ Ventari’s expression sobers, and he nods.

“Of course. I understand.” He pauses, looking up into the trees. Trahearne follows his gaze, but all he sees is vivid green. “Don’t take my word for fact, but… I believe this is your afterlife.”

Trahearne looks back at him, opening his mouth to point out that, well, it’s obvious that it’s  _ his _ afterlife. But Ventari’s expression is solemn, as though he is imparting some sombre news that he’d rather not be the bearer of.

Trahearne thinks for a long moment, and then, with a shocked exhale, the realisation dawns on him. 

“Oh, no.” Anger wells up in his chest, with no one to direct it at. He had hoped — prayed, even — that at least in death, he would be free of the responsibilities that had carried him through his life. What Ventari’s suggesting is unthinkable, and he wants no part in it.

There’s no reason to blame him, but Trahearne’s glare still lands on Ventari like an accusation. 

“Why?”

With luck, Ventari has as many words for that question as he did for the others. The corners of his eyes wrinkle with sympathy.

“I can only theorise, but I believe it has something to do with the circumstances of your death.”

Trahearne raises a brow in question, trying to steady the rhythm of his breathing.

“You were a powerful necromancer in life, and you died with the full power of an elder dragon running through your body. I would wager that those factors made you the perfect candidate to take up part of the Mists for your own.”

Trahearne shivers at the reminder of his last moments. A force pushing his will aside like a leaf on the wind; a monstrous voice tearing itself from his throat. It’s not pleasant to recall.

What Ventari is saying makes sense, though, in a twisted way. Even if it’s a shaky theory, there’s a line of reasoning that Trahearne understands.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I thought the afterlife was Grenth’s domain,” he says. He may not necessarily  _ believe _ in the human gods, but it would be impossible to study necromancy without knowing a little about the god of death. 

“Traditionally, yes, and he’s certainly the most powerful being in this section of the Mists.” Ventari pauses, then snorts. “But humans aren’t the only ones who believe in life after death, as much as they’d like to pretend otherwise.”

“Sylvari don’t,” Trahearne points out, absorbing the information he’s been given. “It always felt like a very fanciful idea to me — and the Dream is as good as, surely?”

Ventari makes a sound of contemplation. He folds his legs underneath him as he sits, and Trahearne takes it as his cue to do the same. Leaning his head against the bark, he tries to recapture the sense of peace he’d felt when he first awoke here.

“The Dream is similar, but not the same. It is a collection of fragments and origins. An afterlife is rather more final than that.”

Trahearne frowns, tilting his head.

“You know a lot about the Dream, for someone who has never experienced it.” Now that the anger is fading, he feels more and more curious about the situation. He doesn’t want any part in it, but if he must, then he will learn as much as he can about it.

“I travel there, on occasion. Passage through the Mists is rare, but not unheard of—” Ventari gestures to Trahearne, “—and my words are spoken there even now.”

“They are kept in the leaves of the Mother Tree herself,” Trahearne agrees, feeling himself smile, ever so slightly.

“It has been my way of keeping track of the world as time goes by. A rare opportunity for a dead man, I assure you.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

The wind blows through the trees, and Trahearne has to wonder. He’s only half-convinced that he is the source of all this. If he is, he this odd fusion of the Maguuma and Orr provides some insights into his psyche.

It’s still eerily quiet, but he’s getting used to it as time passes.

“You mentioned something about other afterlives,” he says, after a few moments go by. 

Ventari smiles, and Trahearne doesn’t think he ever understood the concept of ‘fatherly’ before that moment. At least that’s probably the least weird thing about the day’s events.

“There are many beliefs, from culture to culture and species to species. I would hazard a guess that Grenth has power over every spirit, in his way, but we don’t all go to the same place.”

“Hm.” Trahearne thinks for a moment. “That sounds lonely.”

Ventari widens his eyes, looking startled but pleased. 

“You were friends with Ronan, a human, weren’t you?” Trahearne waits for Ventari’s nod, then continues. “I doubt centaurs and humans share an afterlife — Grenth himself couldn’t stop the destruction that would cause. So I have to assume that you haven’t spoken since Ronan died.”

“I have my people,” Ventari counters, but he’s smiling as though he’s proud.

Somehow, Trahearne can’t help smiling back.

They settle back into silence for a little while. Ventari doesn’t appear bored - in the quiet moments, he has been studying Trahearne’s form carefully. It would be uncomfortable, but Trahearne doubts he’s seen a sylvari in the flesh, so to speak.

Trahearne finds himself feeling contemplative. If Ventari’s words are true — and his gathered knowledge and thought-out theories certainly seem authentic — then Trahearne has a new responsibility, greater even than Orr.

Responsibility can’t be all the package, he’s sure.

“How did you get here?” 

Ventari blinks, meeting his eyes with a frown. His expression says that the answer should be obvious, but Trahearne only raises his brows.

“I believe I’m here because, well, you wanted me to be here.”

“I didn’t—” Trahearne’s protests are cut off as he remembers how isolated he’d felt. Ventari had appeared just as the panic set in. “I wanted company. But why you?”

“Am I not satisfactory?” Ventari laughs as he says it, tone good-natured. “Perhaps the Mists thought that I would be most comfortable breaking the news. Perhaps it was simply a coincidence. I don’t know.”

Trahearne nods. Both of those reasons seem as probable as each other, and he supposes it doesn’t really matter in the end.

“What am I meant to do with this?” The question comes out slightly lost, and he runs his hands over his face. This would have been much simpler if he’d died like everyone else.

Ventari’s expression wrinkles with sympathy, and he holds out his hands, palms-up.

“I’m afraid I don’t have all the answers, no matter how it may appear.”

Trahearne laughs, despite himself.

“No matter how you want it to appear, you mean.”

Ventari smiles. He inclines his head, conceding the point. As he crosses his arms, his expression turns contemplative.

“I suppose,” he begins, after a world of quiet, “that it couldn’t do any harm to test what you can do?”

Trahearne frowns, considering the idea.

“No, I suppose it wouldn't.”

**Author's Note:**

> it might be obvious, this was originally going to be a multi-chapter fic but that never happened. i've got about half a chapter's worth left over (featuring riannoc), so i won't _rule out_ that i'll get back to it.
> 
> you can find me on tumblr at [chaosoflyssa](https://screechfoxes.tumblr.com/tagged/the%20magnus%20archives>screechfoxes</a>%20or%20<a%20href=).


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